We're always looking for new TV shows to watch, so when I saw a teaser on Youtube which promised to list 'the best new shows on Netflix', I couldn't resist a look. To say I was disappointed is an understatement. Clearly, their definition of 'best' and mine are radically different. The first program mentioned was a re-make of Perfect Match. Perfect Match? It was rubbish when it was first made and won't be any better now. The next offering was anime; I stopped watching cartoons when I left Primary school. Then there was a show about wrestling and a South Korean courtroom drama. Who watches this stuff?
To cap it all was a show called Wednesday, apparently featuring the female child from the Munster Family. Unbelievable!
THE BEST OF INTENTIONS 5 NOVEMBER 2021
I like to think that I’m as well-intentioned as the next man but I’ve learned to be careful; even the best of intentions can backfire on you. One of my mother’s friends from the Book Club was moving house and she needed someone to dismantle her bed so that the removalists could fit it into their van. It would need to be done this weekend as the van was coming on Monday morning. My mother offered that I would do it. She is like that: always prepared to offer a helping hand especially if the hand is mine.
Oh, well, it’s not too much of a hardship and I had no other plans for the weekend. I scribbled the address on a scrap of paper and promised to be on the doorstep by 9 o’clock on Sunday.
Armed with my Allen keys, I presented myself to the friend’s house at the agreed time and was shown into the bedroom where I was surprised to find that the bed was still covered with sheets and blankets, and there was an elderly man lying in it. Mum’s friend was very apologetic and whispered that her husband was still asleep and hated to be woken up. She had learnt early on in their marriage that, if she was up before her husband, she had to creep around the house, and woe betide her if she made too much noise in the kitchen.
I started to speak but the woman became agitated and signalled me to shoosh. She pulled me into the hallway where I could ask her, under my breath, what she wanted me to do.
“Could you come back in a couple of hours?” she pleaded, apologetically. “He’ll probably be up by then and you could get on with pulling the bed apart.”
I wasn’t very happy about being mucked around but it would only take me ten minutes to loosen the screws and I had no other plans. A cup of coffee helped to fill in that time and I duly returned to the house ready to fulfil my promise. I found the woman wringing her hands and clearly upset.
“He’s still in bed but I don’t think he’s asleep: I think he’s passed away,” she wailed.
“What, dead?” I said, stupidly.
“Yes, could you have a look?” she asked. I wasn’t very happy about it but what else could I do?”
“Have you rung an ambulance?” I asked. “Maybe he’s ill and needs some help and, if he really is dead, the ambulance people will be able to confirm it.”
“Oh, alright,” she muttered and went to the ‘phone.
I, reluctantly, returned to the bedroom where the old man certainly looked to have departed this life. He was grey in the face and didn’t seem to be breathing, so I gently drew the sheet up over his head, patted his hand and quietly left him in peace.
Back in the loungeroom, Mum’s friend told me that the ambulance was on its way and asked me if I would like a cup of tea. With the taste of my recent coffee still on my lips I began to say No, thanks, but instinct told me that she probably needed an activity to take her mind off her loss and she was looking to occupy her hands.
I don’t normally drink tea, especially if it’s weak and milky, but I managed to finish my cup, all of the time listening to her tell me about the life they had led: over fifty years of marriage, not always happy. He was a very dominant individual and she had had to give in to him at every turn. He had never wanted to do anything she enjoyed. She had always wanted to travel but he said it was a waste of money. He was so awful, even their children had abandoned them. It would be different without him, she said, and the first thing she would do was re-build her relationship with their children and the friends he had insulted over the years.
We heard the doorbell ring and a couple of paramedics hurried into the loungeroom.
“Where is he?” they asked but, before they could be directed to the bedroom a loud voice could be heard.
“What’s all the noise? Can’t a man have quiet in his own house?”
The woman put her head in her hands and cried. “I just knew it was too good to be true. He’s too rotten to just die in his sleep and leave me in peace.”
The paramedics and I left together. I had given up my morning with the best of
intentions and look how that had turned out.
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